


Snow in the Summer’s Light

by giddytf2



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/pseuds/giddytf2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘There’s something about this man, in that high-collared, blue jacket and skewed helmet obscuring the upper half of an angular, masculine face. Something that makes his center of gravity go out of kilter. Something hot and sweet, like apple pie straight out of the oven. Something he’s got no right <i>feeling</i> about another man.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow in the Summer’s Light

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the fifth commissioned story for my [Fanfiction Fundraiser](http://giddytf2.tumblr.com/post/76303040493/fanfiction-fundraiser-500-1000-words-for-us-10), with thanks to Evan K.! Gosh, it turned into a beast of a story…but that’s what happens when I get an OTP for which I’ve developed intense feels lately, haha. I really enjoyed writing this one, so I may write longer Helmet Party stories in the future.
> 
> The soundtrack I listened to while writing this is from the Road to Perdition OST, the [Title Theme](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AS3FXKCxDL4). It’s fast becoming my to-go track for writing angsty romance to rip your heart out with feels.

Dell’s mother leaves them when he’s five years old. She’s tired, she tells him before walking out the door and never coming back, tired of his old man and his drinking. Tired of the rage, the absences and his work taking over everything, every damn _thing_.

_It’s the Conagher curse_ , she says with red, damp eyes. _I’m sorry_.

Dell doesn’t cry when he watches her climb into a yellow cab with a single black suitcase. He doesn’t cry when she’s gone, or when his old man turns that rage onto him.

“You’re a goddamn disappointment, boy.”

His old man’s a human pillar of blistering ice that sears him with cold words and eyes. It doesn’t matter how many A’s he scores at school or how many bigger, tougher boys he beats or how many more effective, _better_ designs he comes up with for his old man’s engineering projects. His old man sees his mother in his face, his eyes. His old man hates his guts.

Grandpa Radigan doesn’t.

“He’s weak. He’s a slave to the drink, to the _world_ ,” Grandpa says in that gruff, calming voice to him one afternoon, while they sit on the porch steps of Grandpa’s grand Victorian house on the outskirts of Bee Cave. “But _you_ , you’ll become a master of it, Dell. And of yourself.”

Grandpa’s robotic hand upon his shoulder is more comforting than his old man’s flesh-and-blood one’s ever been.

“You won’t need anyone. You’ll see.”

Thirty-five years later, he can still recall the jovial arch of Grandpa’s bushy mustache, the chill of the mug of BLU Streak beer Grandpa always handed him after he turned fourteen. Grandpa never feared him becoming his old man. Grandpa ridiculed the Conagher curse. Grandpa was one hell of a man. A _genius_.

“But even you couldn’t teach me everythin’,” he murmurs up at the stars in the New Mexico desert night sky, his fourth beer bottle in hand. “You learned how to not be lonely by now, Gramps?”

Neither Grandpa or the stars answer him. Then again, he isn’t a philosopher who can hear them speak. He’s an engineer, a solver of practical problems. He’ll get over this dumb _feeling_ by morning. It’s nothing another bottle of beer can’t fix. Nothing at all.

 

\+ + +

 

Jane never knew his mother. Dad never speaks of her. Whenever he dares ask Dad about her, Dad says nothing. Dad just looks at him with those stony, dead eyes, like he’s the reason Mom’s gone and it’s just the two of them in this big, hollow house in Detroit.

“You shame me.”

The multihued medals and stripes on Dad’s uniform sting his eyes. He’ll never earn any of them. Never wear the esteemed uniform to show them off.

He has nothing to say to Dad’s arctic decree. It’s the truth. He’s a fucking embarrassment, rejected by every branch of the military despite Dad’s rank and reputation. The doctors’ diagnoses of his screwed-up mind have made sure of that. They told him it’s something to do with his brain, his _genetics_.

When he finally tells Dad about that, it’s the one time Dad socks him in the face. The one time he fights back, and loses.

“ _You shame me_.”

He’s eighteen years old, and he doesn’t know if he’s the one who says that or Dad. He’s stomping to the nearest airport with nothing but the clothes on his back and some money in his coat pocket. He’s on a plane out of the country, and in the dark where none of the other passengers can see, he lets the wet heat in his eyes spill.

He’s just eighteen, and in the freezing, placid snow of Poland, he thinks about Mom. He wonders if he’s a shame to her too, if that’s why she left.

“I’m here, Jane.”

Jane stares at the robed man seated next to him on the fallen tree trunk, at the horned, eyeless skull adorning the man’s head and the hooked, wooden staff in the man’s bare hands.

“What’s your name, again?” Jane asks. This man had appeared out of nowhere a month after he arrived in this abyss of ice and isolation. This man battles by his side against the endless waves of damn Nazis without question. He likes this guy.

“You called me Merasmus. Remember?”

He doesn’t remember. It doesn’t bother him.

For centuries afterwards, when Merasmus sets Nazis on fire and launches them skyward with a mere gaze, when Nazi bullets go through Merasmus like he’s a ghost, it doesn’t bother Jane. When the war ends in 1949 and he slinks back to America and is rejected over and over by the military, it doesn’t bother him. When his Dad tells him he has no son and slams the door in his face, it doesn’t bother him.

And when he turns thirty-nine, a mercenary with a spectral magician, a shovel and a nursery of raccoons as his only friends, it doesn’t bother him either. It doesn’t.

 

\+ + +

 

“I’m Dell. Dell Conagher.”

Engineer waits for his offered hand to be taken and shaken by Soldier. There’s something about this man, in that high-collared, blue jacket and skewed helmet obscuring the upper half of an angular, masculine face. Something that makes his center of gravity go out of kilter. Something hot and sweet, like apple pie straight out of the oven. Something he’s got no right _feeling_ about another man.

But he does.

He wishes he could see Soldier’s eyes, although his own are shielded by tinted goggles.

“MISTER JANE DOE, _SIR_!” Soldier bellows, standing ramrod straight, executing a perfect military hand salute.

Engineer almost laughs, almost. The sudden muscle tic in Soldier’s jaw, the pursing of lips into a thin, livid line stops him and strangles any amusement in him. Soldier _isn’t_ joking about that being his actual name. He’s awaiting mockery for it. Scorn. Like the poor bastard’s used to it.

With a sincere, solemn expression, Engineer returns the salute.

“Good to meet ya, Mr. Doe. Please, call me Dell.”

He sees Soldier’s hand waver in the air, Soldier’s lips part to reveal endearingly uneven teeth. He feels the shock rip through Soldier like an unforeseen gunshot. Like a wound so deep, bleeding so long that the _lack_ of pain is what buckles the man.

It makes something inside Engineer ache.

“Jane.”

The name is said so quietly, Engineer nearly misses it.

“If I call you Dell, you … call me Jane. If you want.”

Soldier is gazing past his left shoulder. At least he _thinks_ Soldier is. Soldier’s stance has relaxed, like a crushing weight upon his shoulders is slowly being lifted away. What he can see of Soldier’s face is red as a strawberry.

“If _you_ want,” Engineer replies as quietly. He smiles when Soldier begins to smile.

“Yeah,” Soldier says, smile spreading from ear to ear. “Yeah.”

Engineer gives him a friendly smack on the arm.                                                                                              

“Come on, why don’t we say hello to the others?”

“Okay!”

He wishes he could see Soldier’s eyes. See the smile in them too. Maybe he’ll ask Soldier – no, _Jane_ – later after dinner if he’d like some BLU Streak beer by the fire under the desert night sky. He’s found a great spot behind the base’s garage that’s buttressed by an immense rock wall and has a stunning view of the stars.

Yeah. It’ll be nice to share that with somebody, for a change.

 

\+ + +

 

“Dell, this is Lieutenant Bites.”

Soldier stands with his arms crossed over his chest as Lieutenant Bites clambers all over him like the rabid, wild raccoon he is before perching on his right shoulder. He can’t quite see Engineer’s face, standing face to face as they are with Engineer’s cluttered worktable between them, and he isn’t ready to move his helmet up. Not yet.

“I like him,” Merasmus says to him, but he ignores the tall, slender specter floating beside him. He’s learned the hard way enough times that talking to Merasmus in the presence of other people is _not_ a smart thing to do. Still, it’s not his fault no one else can see him.

“ _You_ like him. Very much,” Merasmus adds, far too insouciantly, and oh, Soldier wants to incinerate his body so badly. If the wizard-ghost maggot _had_ one.

“Hey, Jane. I see ya brought a friend around.”

Engineer uttering his name in that Southern accent shouldn’t make his chest throb like this. It shouldn’t.

“And good evenin’ to you, Lieutenant Bites. I’m Dell.”

Engineer’s standing in front of them, greeting Lieutenant Bites with a perfect military hand salute, extending a hand for Lieutenant Bites to shake, to climb on and up to Engineer’s shoulder. Engineer isn’t wearing his helmet. Engineer’s goggles are on his forehead and he’s smiling and petting Lieutenant Bites like an old, old friend.

It shouldn’t make Soldier’s chest throb so much. It really shouldn’t.

“I like him,” Engineer says to him, big blue eyes crinkled with mirth.

“Yeah, I like the little numbnut too,” he rasps, but he isn’t sure whether it’s to Engineer or to Merasmus who’s grinning like the wicked, all-knowing enchanter he is.

 

\+ + +

 

Jane’s taken off his helmet. He’s reclined with hands beneath his head on a blanket by the fire, his blue jacket unbuttoned and open. Jane’s white shirt stretches across a broad, sturdy chest and down a flat, toned belly. It’s a sight that makes Engineer’s chest swell exquisitely. It’s elation and pain and something else, something tremendous for which he doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe.

“Your eleven PhDs help you any in life?”

Engineer continues to strum his guitar as he considers Jane’s muttered question. Jane is gazing up at the constellations and galaxies far away. Jane’s blue eyes are more beautiful than all the stars, planets, solar flares and nebulae in the universe.

It takes him a long time to reply.

“If ya mean, did they help me to know how to build and fix machines like I do today? Yeah. Them eleven PhDs in my noggin are of hard science, Rocket Boy.”

Jane glances at him and sends him a small smile that’s all silky at the edges. It’s even more beautiful than his eyes.

“How about people? Your PhDs teach you how to fix _them_?”

Engineer has to look away, down at the fire. His strumming peters out. He wants to say yes. Lord knows how much he wants to, if it means he can do what Jane’s asking of him. He stares into the flames. He sees his mother getting into that yellow cab and leaving. He sees his old man staring back with those icy eyes. Turning that vast back on him and walking away without looking back.

“No. They don’t.”

Jane gazes at him, with that smile that’s gone sad. He doesn’t like Jane being sad.

“Hey, how about I sing the Star-Spangled Banner for ya, huh?” he jests, grinning, glad to have his goggles on.

Jane’s harshly whispered response almost knocks him off his seat on the wooden crate.

“I _hate_ that song.”

Jane is gazing up at the sky once more. The smile is gone, and ghosts are flitting across his somber face, old ghosts that should be long buried, that shouldn’t be haunting him anymore. Engineer doesn’t like them either. He’d build guns to shoot them all gone for Jane, if that did the job.

“That’s rather un-American, ain’t it?”

He injects as much humor into his tone as he can.

“What’s it mean to be American, Dell? To serve your country?”

Jane’s voice is low, so small and childlike. Perhaps Jane’s ghosts are more like his own than he’ll ever know.

“I wish I knew, Jane. All I know is, you do what you gotta do in life. Find out who you are, what ya want. Find out how to get it, make it come true and try not to hurt yerself and other people while you’re at it. Make amends if ya do.” Suddenly, he sees Grandpa beaming at him, feels Grandpa’s hand upon his shoulder. He has to swallow before saying, “Make things, _do_ things to change the world into somethin’ better than it was before.”

“Now _that’s_ American, my friend.”

The smile has returned to Jane’s face. It’s brighter than the moon above, brighter than it ever was. Engineer smiles back and stares helplessly into Jane’s eyes, and wonders how blind everyone else must be to see only madness in those baby blues.

 

\+ + +

 

It’s just him and Engineer in Engineer’s workshop. It’s late afternoon, hot as the lowest level of hell and Engineer’s naked from the waist up and sweaty and splattered with oil. If there’s a god up there somewhere, he’s the cruelest fucker Soldier knows this very minute and knowing Dad, that’s _really_ saying something.

“Jane? What’s wrong?”

Soldier stands at attention as Engineer swipes away his goggles and hastily wipes greasy hands on a rag while approaching him. Chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in, _teeeeen-hut_!

“You’re startin’ to _worry_ me a little here, pardner.”

Engineer’s closing in on him, reaching for him. He takes a huge step back and it halts Engineer dead in his tracks. He can’t let Engineer touch him. If Engineer touches him, that’s it, he’s going down, he’ll grab Engineer by the arms and kiss him and never, ever stop.

“MR. DELL CONAGHER!”

It’s a testament to their fortified friendship that Engineer doesn’t even flinch at his deafening holler. Engineer stands at ease and gazes at him with the most beautiful, big blue eyes he’s ever seen in his life. He feels the bite of ice upon his skin. He feels the whoosh of blood in his veins, his ears. He feels the darkness of his helmet over his head, his eyes. Blocking him from the light. From Engineer’s light and warmth and _life_.

This is his greatest battle, his finest moment, and no, he will _not_ confront it like a coward.

His helmet goes flying into a corner of the workshop with a single, easy toss. He snaps back into standing at attention, his chin even higher up, his chest puffed out and stomach sucked in.

“MR. DELL CONAGHER, I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU; YOUR _EYES_ IN THE SUNSHINE, YOUR _FACE_ WHEN IT’S HOT AND RED IN THE DESERT HEAT, YOUR _SMILE_ WHEN YOU LAUGH WITH ME UNDER THE STARS, YOUR PERFECTLY SHAVED _HEAD_ , THE WAY YOU _TALK_ ABOUT EVERYTHING, THE WAY YOU PUT YOUR _HEART_ AND _SOUL_ INTO EVERYTHING YOU DO! I AM IN _LOVE_ WITH YOU AND I LOVE _EVERYTHING_ ABOUT YOU AND … and …” And here, his voice breaks and turns fragile, his fists tremble, his eyes blur. “And with you … with you, I know what I have to do in life. With you, I know who I am, what I want. I want to make things, _do_ things with you to change the world into something better than it was before. I want _you_ , and –“

And here, Engineer has surged forward and grabbed his head and is laying siege to his mouth and _by god_ , as first kisses go, this is as incredible and miraculous as one is going to get. Engineer’s lips and tongue are smooth against his. Engineer’s fingers are carding through his hair, tugging at it. Engineer’s waist fits flawlessly in his hands. He shudders and moans into the kiss. Instead of burning up in Engineer’s light, he’s swimming in a cool oasis, borne by reviving, blue waters and feeling so alive, so _alive_.

“That was … that was your first kiss, wasn’t it?”

In a millennia, after he recovers his senses and sees the awe on Engineer’s face, Soldier turns beet-red. He punches Engineer in the arm when Engineer chuckles, but it’s a half-hearted strike. All his energy is going into his grin he can’t control.

“Hey, close your eyes. I got somethin’ for ya.”

He obeys and listens to the noises of a wooden drawer opening and shutting, of Engineer sauntering back to him. He opens his eyes again at Engineer’s command, then gapes at the blue-and-gold item Engineer presents on one palm.

“I was gonna give it to ya on your birthday but, well …”

It’s a medal, a gold star with his insignia engraved on it that hangs from a blue ribbon. He gapes at it and thinks of Dad and his collection of military medals and stripes ornamenting a general’s uniform, earned from bloodshed and suffering. He gapes at this simple, _gorgeous_ medal Engineer’s made for him from scratch, and knows none of Dad’s will ever compare to this one medal, created and earned from love.

The waters of the oasis flood his vision. He tears off the fake medals now so unworthy on his jacket. Engineer’s medal feels right on him. It feels like it’s fated to be there, in this exact moment and place, pinned to his heart by this extraordinary man from Bee Cave, Texas. It feels like the last missing piece of his puzzle slipping into its rightful place.

“I love you too, ya know.”

He presses his hand over Engineer’s on the medal. He nods, unable to speak.

Later that night, in the refuge of his room, Soldier feels Engineer’s hand over his heart again as they strip each other of their clothes on his bed. He drowns in Engineer’s – no, _Dell’s_ kisses, a willing and pliant supplicant of Dell’s palms on his heaving chest, his peaked nipples, on his quavering thighs that he spreads for Dell to settle between them. He grips Dell’s head as Dell licks and sucks on his nipples. He shivers and groans and tries so hard to not come just from the sensations. He never knew how sensitive they can be, never knew how a tongue can blaze across his skin and make him _melt_ like this.

He cries out when Dell nips blunt teeth into the ripples of his toned abdomen, when he bucks his hips up and Dell licks and sucks a merciless path down to his straining, steel-hard cock. He latches onto Dell’s shoulders. The first slide of tongue against the underside of his cock, from hilt to seeping tip, drags a long, tortured moan out of his raw throat.

“D-Dell! I … _ooh_ , oh god … Dell, _I’m_ –“

His frantic fingers rake at Dell’s scalp. Scorching heat sparks in his belly every time Dell deep-throats him, tongues that sensitive spot under the head. The heat’s flaring into a bonfire in him, consuming him from the inside out. He whimpers and writhes and he’s dazed, captivated, so close to falling off the edge and he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay here, he wants Dell to fall with him, _he doesn’t want to_ –

“Let go, darlin’. I’ll catch you. Let go.”

He explodes in a firestorm, arching up into Dell’s mouth and hands, screaming his ecstasy soundlessly at the heavens. His eyes and cheeks are wet, but Dell says nothing about it. Dell kisses them dry, and Soldier – no, _Jane_ , his name is Jane – falls in love with him all over again.

“I want you,” he rasps, seeing the scorching heat in Dell’s eyes. “I want to see your face when you come in me.”

Dell’s fingers are thick and long. Dell’s cock is even longer, far thicker. For a second, he fears not being able to take it. He hears Dad branding him a shame, a fucking embarrassment who wants to be fucked like a _girl_. But Dad’s wrong. Dad was always wrong about lots of things. It takes a real man to accept a cock that big into him. It takes a _real_ man to love and not hurt, not kill, to love another despite the world claiming it’s wrong.

“I’m so damn proud of ya,” Dell whispers into his mouth as they rock together, as Dell thrusts in and out of him carefully, tenderly. “So damn proud you’re mine.”

Jane believes him.

He watches Dell come, watches the joy ease his lover’s features and feels his lover’s cock hit his prostate through the spectacular aftershocks. He’s close to coming again. He doesn’t, though, and that’s okay. There’ll be other times. Other nights to make love numerous times, till the sun rises. There’ll be other times, now that they’re two less lonely people in this world.

He watches Dell sleep beside him. Caresses Dell’s face, traces the length of Dell’s nose and plump lower lip.

He sits up, the blankets bunching around his hips, when he notices the familiar, slender robed figure at the foot of the bed. He hasn’t seen Merasmus for some time. Merasmus looks the same like he did twenty years ago.

Merasmus is leaving, and isn’t coming back.

“Where are you going?” Jane whispers in deference to his slumbering lover.

“You don’t need me anymore, Jane.”

There’s a faint smile on Merasmus’ face. It’s a smile of farewell that makes a lump lodge in Jane’s throat.

“Why don’t you stay? It’s … it’s nice to have friends.”

“But you do have them. They’re here with you.”

The lump in Jane’s throat grows. He glances down at Dell who still sleeps. He thinks of his other team members, asleep in their own rooms, recuperating for their future skirmishes with RED. He glances back at Merasmus, feeling eighteen years old again.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being there. For being the best soldier a man could ask for.”

The smile on Merasmus’ face widens, softens.

“Jane?”

Jane blinks, and Merasmus is gone. He feels Dell’s hand grazing his on the bed.

“Who were ya talkin’ to, darlin’?”

Dell’s Southern accent is stronger when he’s drowsy. It’s cute as heck. It’s doing funny things to Jane’s heart.

“Oh. I was just saying goodbye to an old friend.”

Dell entwines their fingers and smiles fondly up at him. The lump in Jane’s throat is almost choking him at this point.

“Where’s he goin’?”

Jane swallows hard, then murmurs, “He’s got his own places to be now. Like me.”

Dell gently pulls his hand.

“Then what are ya doin’ all the way there? Come ‘ere.”

Jane glides between the covers and into Dell’s welcoming embrace. He tucks his head against Dell’s, pressing their cheeks and noses together. Dell’s exhalations sweep his face like a silken breeze. It feels right to be here. This is where he belongs.

“That’s better,” Dell whispers, as they fall together into slumber.

It is. It really is.

At dawn, he opens his eyes and finds himself alone in bed. He jerks upright and whips off the blankets. His breath stutters in his chest at the emptiness next to him. The sheets where Dell had slept are cool. Did … did Dell actually _sleep_ here? Did Dell really tell him he loved him too? Did they really make love here in his bed?

Or did he just _dream_ it all, like everything else in his life?

He feels snow between his fingers, his toes. His blood is freezing in his arteries, and everywhere he looks, it’s just more and more snow. It’s dim like all the stars have been snuffed out. He hears the ravenous wolves growling in the shadows, sniffing the air for him. They’re coming for him, he’s back in Poland, he’s been there the whole time and they’re coming for him and –

He dashes out of the room and into the hallway. He runs and runs but he can still hear the wolves behind him, catching up to him.

He crashes through the entrance of the mess hall, through the door to the kitchen.

“Hey, you.”

The wolves and the gloom flee in terror at the radiance of Dell’s smile.

“I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed,” Dell goes on, gesturing with a spatula at the stove where bacon, sausages and eggs are frying on several pans. “But you just had to ruin it, didn’t ya, ya damn Yankee?”

Dell is wearing pants, boots and a frilly, pink apron with ‘KISS THE COOK’ printed in red on it. Morning sunlight cascades onto him through a window, haloing him in gold, humbling like the massive stained glass windows of an ancient church for quiescent gods.

The scene takes Jane’s breath away.

“Sorry,” he croaks, basking in his lover’s warmth, not sorry at all.

“Hey.” Dell ambles up to him and cups his cheek with a bare hand. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Jane believes this too.

In the decades to come, they’ll both laugh their asses off in reminiscence of what happens next: Scout shuffles in while yawning and rubbing bleary eyes, garbed in a threadbare t-shirt and black sweatpants. The boy takes one look at them, then down at their groins, then screams at the top of his lungs like a horrified old lady and stampedes away like the hounds of hell are after him.

Jane is flabbergasted by Scout’s reaction, until he glances down at himself. Oh. He forgot to put on clothes. And he’s got raging morning wood begging for attention.

Here and now, Dell’s already laughing his ass off, hunched over and slapping his knee. Jane grins from ear to ear at this. He feels like the king of everything in existence. He feels like waking his entire kingdom so he can declare to all how much he loves this man. He isn’t afraid of the cold, of the silence anymore. He doesn’t have to fill it with gunfire and explosions anymore, not when he can listen to Dell’s laughter, the sweetest sound in the world.

He’s free.

 

\+ + +

 

A month after their contract with BLU ends, they move into Grandpa Radigan’s Victorian house on the outskirts of Bee Cave. It’s part of Dell’s inheritance after his father’s death in 1955, along with the newer Conagher residence a few blocks down the road. That house he’d sold off in 1956 without a second thought. He’d grown up in that house, but he never belonged there. This gabled Victorian house, however, with its American Queen Anne style-wraparound front porch, soft beige bricks and picturesque windows, with its treasured occupants is where he does.

“Dada, please do not mix the colored clothing with white –“

“I’LL WASH MY CLOTHES ANY WAY I WANT, METAL MAGGOT!”

He and Jane aren’t alone. They’re now accompanied by three robots that he built and brought to life after moving in; DJ, a two-armed, swift fella on a wheel; Teddy-R, a little spitfire of a steel bear with an arsenal of deadly guns and lasers, and Colonel Eagle, a majestic avian bot capable of flying and hunting prey as adeptly as its flesh-and-blood counterpart. To both Dell’s and Jane’s pleasant surprise, Colonel Eagle appointed itself as the protector of Lieutenant Bites and the other raccoons mere days after being activated, and has since rarely strayed from the raccoons’ sides or from the house.

“Dada, I am not a maggot. I am Dell Junior, model DJC-01784. I will confer with Pop to schedule an appointment with the optometrist –“

“MY EYES ARE JUST FINE, ROBOT HIPPIE!”

DJ, on the other hand, doesn’t have much of a choice about sticking close to Jane. Jane almost burned down the kitchen trying to make a Valentine’s Day dinner last year. Blew a giant hole through one of the roofs with his rocket launcher months before that. Tried to drink the whole team under the table when they came around for Christmas and somehow ended up buck naked on the highest roof of their home with Teddy-R stuck to his ass. Poor little guy needed a minor memory wipe after that.

“Dada, I will tell Pop and he will hide your lollipops –“

“I’M YOUR DAD TOO, YOU LITTLE SHIT, DON’T YOU DARE THREATEN MY _LOLLIPOPS_!“           

Lord, he loves the crazy bastard and their kids so damn much, it hurts.

As much as he wishes it to be eternal summer sunshine in their home, sometimes, like the Texas seasons, winter comes along to subdue the tender warmth with its callous chill. The wolves return in the dark of night to haunt Jane’s dreams. Sometimes Jane wakes up scared and yelling, crawling onto his lap and huddling there when the bedroom lamps switch on and dispel the shadows. Sometimes his own ghosts return in the daylight, whenever he skims through Grandpa’s photo albums and sees his old man, his mother in them. Sometimes it’s all he can do to not seize the next bottle of beer, and the next and the next until the holes the shape of his parents within him are clogged up and the Conagher curse gets him.

“I’d go back in time and punch your dad’s head off his neck, if I could,” Jane says hoarsely against his neck, one night when his ghosts show up in his dreams too and he has to go outside to the back porch to regain his composure.

“I know,” he whispers back, his hands tight over Jane’s comforting arms around him. “I know.”

But winter doesn’t last forever. Spring comes back, eventually. So does summer, and it’s on an early summer morning that he stands on the back porch overlooking the garden while Jane is cooking breakfast and sees Grandpa in the light. Grandpa’s mustache is as jovial and bushy as ever. Grandpa’s robotic arm impresses him as much as it ever did. Grandpa’s eyes smile at him.

“You were right, Gramps. I don’t need anyone. But it sure is nice to have someone who loves you and everythin’ about you.” Dell smiles back. “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you.”

And in the light, he sees Grandma Mathilda appear at Grandpa’s side. He sees her take his robotic hand in hers, sees him gaze down at her with gleaming eyes livelier than the sun. He sees them look back, at him, at the house they built together.  

He doesn’t cry when they fade away. He’s still smiling when the back porch door slams open behind him and Lieutenant Bites scampers past and into the garden, three pancakes in his mouth.

“GET BACK HERE WITH MY BREAKFAST, YOU STINKY _ROADKILL_!”

Jane sprints into the garden after the rascally raccoon in nothing but boxers printed with the American flag and rubber slippers. Something bubbles in Dell. Something tremendous, hot and sweet like apple pie straight out of the oven. Something like elation and pain, only better.

Jane stumbles to a brief halt on verdant grass at the sight of him. Jane gazes at him with so much wonder, sends him a flying kiss that he captures and bestows upon his own lips.

“You’re _beautiful_ ,” Jane proclaims, gesticulating one hand theatrically in the air in his direction.

Dell believes him. Dell begins to laugh as Jane resumes the exciting chase and pounces on the doomed raccoon behind a cherry laurel shrub. He feels like the king of all things. He feels like waking his entire kingdom so he can declare how much he loves that man. He isn’t afraid of his heart, of its mighty, natural turbulence anymore. He doesn’t have to stifle it with trampled hopes and impassive ice anymore, not when he can let loose his happiness like this, see it in Jane’s face and eyes and bask in this brilliant _feeling_ they share.

He’s free.

He’s home.

 

**Fin**


End file.
